


Fly By Night

by StormLeviosa



Series: The Lowest and Vilest Alleys [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Gotham by Gaslight (2018), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Author Loves Comments, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, But how can a crossover be canon compliant?, F/M, Gotham by Gaslight universe, I wrote this instead of revising, One Shot, Sort of Canon Compliant?, The Author Regrets Nothing, Victorian Batman, Victorian Sherlock Holmes, if I fail my exams I blame you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 08:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14208852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormLeviosa/pseuds/StormLeviosa
Summary: The newly named Batfamily arrive in London and Bruce, of course, goes looking for his old friend. But his friendship with Holmes is strained and awkward and when a child is murdered, it is down to Bruce and his family to find the killer before he strikes again.A sequel to 'Learning the Science of Deduction.'





	Fly By Night

**Author's Note:**

> So, I lied. I made a sequel.  
> This will probably (read: definitely) be the last, at least until later this summer when my exams are over because I just don't have time. I love writing these, I really do, but the amount of research involved is just insane and I'm supposed to be revising because A Levels!!

After the fiasco with the Ripper, Alfred thought it best that they leave Gotham for a while - just until the rumours died down - and let society forget about Bruce Wayne. Bruce was reluctant for there was no one to take the mantle of Batman in his stead but Alfred assured him that all would be well, that Gotham may even benefit from his absence, a remark that stung and had caused no end of arguments since. In the end, it was Selina who made him see sense and before the week was out they were sailing for London.

London high society was different to Gotham. In Gotham, one attended balls and galas with the express knowledge that every one of the simpering women and blustering men was one’s enemy, that they had climbed up the choking vines of Gotham’s social ladder, heedless of any choking beneath them. In London, the elite were still simpering women and blustering men, but there was a certain naivety to their character that no Gothamite could have. There were no cut glass eyes and cut throat smiles full of teeth. There were no knives in pockets and poison in wine glasses. London had sweeping skirts and tailored suits to match nonchalant laughs and carefree dances. Bruce hated it. Of course, Selina seemed completely at ease, chattering with any lady who would listen about jewellery and different dress cuts and impressing all of them so greatly that she was invited to visit four separate estates in under an hour. Bruce felt out of place, twitchy and paranoid, and he thought that maybe this was what the boys felt like at his parties, the few he’d hosted before their departure. He had never thought to ask. He finally struck up conversation with a man who had visited Gotham several years before and had recognised him standing by the wall. Clean-shaven and wearing one of those newfangled _blazers_ that Bruce hated so much, he tried and failed to engage Bruce in conversation, until he brought up the Woman, Irene Adler, and her connection to the Prince of Bohemia who had apparently been to a number of large parties in London. Holmes had been involved. They conversed in guarded tones about Holmes and Adler and somehow got back around to Gotham and Bruce was finishing his fourth glass of wine before he realised he had drained his first. Decidedly tipsy, he began the search for Selina before he could embarrass himself any further.

It was a week before he could rouse himself to visit his old friend. Selina and the boys decided to come with him; Timmy in particular seemed eager to meet the detective, if a little apprehensive. And so it came about that one Wednesday afternoon, just less than a month after their arrival in London, on a day that was more sunny than England was normally, the little family piled into a hansom cab and made their way to Baker Street. Bruce hammered on the door for at least five minutes as they clustered on the front step before someone came to the door: the landlady, Mrs Hudson. She peered at him through beady eyes, taking in Bruce’s large frame, Selina on his arm, the boys at their feet - bickering as usual - and raised an eyebrow imperiously. “You’ve been gone a long time, Doctor.”

Holmes was in the sitting room, standing by the window, his frame illuminated by mid-afternoon sun. He looked healthy, or as healthy as he could look when he ate so sparingly, and seemed lost in thought. Bruce grinned. “Holmes, my old friend, how wonderful to see you!” Holmes turned and glared at him, his intelligent eyes narrowed in distaste. “Watson, or should I say Wayne? Old friends we are not.” The room turned suddenly cold and even the boys stopped their fisticuffs to stare at them. It was Mrs Hudson who broke the terrible silence with an offer of tea for all of them. “I think you have some catching up to do.”

Holmes offered a seat to Selina and she perched there, watching the two men with an eager gleam in her dark eyes. It was a long time before anyone spoke. “You’ve been busy.” Bruce nodded. “I am not so simple-minded as to think this woman is poor Miss Morstan whom you abandoned and I do not believe we have been introduced.” He took Selina’s hand and bowed slightly. “Sherlock Holmes. You are Miss Selina Kyle, soon to be Wayne. I keep abreast of the news from across the pond when it’s relevant. I’ve known your betrothed for a long time, or I thought I did.” He glared at Bruce from the corner of his eye and Bruce shivered as his assessing gaze was leveled on him for the first time since they met all those years ago. Selina gave an affected little laugh to ease the tension and Holmes’ attention was brought to the boys standing awkwardly beside Bruce. “Dickie Grayson, the acrobat. Jason Todd, the delinquent. And Timmy, last name unknown.” He scowled and Bruce remembered how little Holmes liked not knowing things: his superior intellect made such trivial things distasteful. He stared at them closer. They fidgeted under his icy gaze. “You have five silver spoons and a handkerchief in your pocket. Remove them, if you please.” Jason looked sheepish and, sure enough, five silver teaspoons and an embroidered handkerchief appeared on the table. Turning to Dickie, he continued. “You fell from somewhere high up last night. Your right wrist is slightly swollen, don’t worry it isn’t broken, but you scared yourself.” Dickie winced and Selina was on her feet examining his wrist with sympathetic murmurs that he did not appreciate, if his grumbling was anything to go by. “And you,” he said, as Timmy was shunted into view from behind Jason. “You are the most interesting of the lot. You have a quick mind, if you would only apply it correctly, but you are far too timid for your own good; not like your so-called ‘brothers’ with their loud and brash words, perfect for the streets. You watch and wait. Your attitude is completely different, like you don’t believe you belong with them.” He paused and cocked his head to one side, frowning as he studied Bruce’s youngest son with puzzled bewilderment. “Where are your parents, boy?” Timmy visibly gulped and Bruce gave a shocked exclamation at the same time as Jason turned on Holmes, burning fury in his eyes.

It took a while to calm the boys. Such loyalty was commendable but the scrappy fighting technique they had picked up on the streets was an insult to Bruce’s capabilities as a teacher. Timmy had turned chalk white and Bruce had wrapped a protective arm around his son as Selina restrained Jason. She was always better with Jason when he got like this. “Whatever do you mean, Holmes, where are his parents? I found him on the streets. Evidently he hasn’t got any.” Holmes looked Timmy right in the eye, an unnecessary cruelty, Bruce thought, and the boy buried himself closer into Bruce’s side. Finally, the boy spoke up in that quiet, far too refined voice that Bruce had not sought to interrogate Timmy about. They all had their secrets, like how he dressed up as a bat at night, or how Dickie spoke in a different language when he had nightmares, or how Jason always kept a knife in his left shoe. “They’re in Egypt. They’re on a dig with Flinders Petrie and Alessandro Barsanti. It’s alright, though: I left a note.”  

Eventually the story came out. Timmy, a distinctly upper-class child, was born to Janet and Jack Drake, archaeologists from an old money Gotham family. How they had made their money was unclear but the number of artefacts in the Drake house far exceeded the number of digs the couple had been on so he could only assume there was something underhanded going on. Their love for their job was such that Timmy was, from a young age, kept under the care of a parade of nannies and governesses and rarely saw his parents. They sent money, the occasional telegram, but for the most part kept their distance and expected the same of their son. So it came to pass that a seven year old Timmy was left utterly alone when the money for his latest governess ran out. No one in Gotham worked for nothing. When the food ran out as well as the money, Timmy left his cold and lonely house and took to the streets. Dickie and Jason stumbled upon him scavenging from bins and took pity on the young, achingly under-prepared boy and decided to make their duo a trio. That had been six months ago and no one, least of all the Drakes, had noticed the missing child.  

The newspaper had a gruesome story about a murdered child on its front page and Bruce thought it was definitely Holmes’ sort of thing. When he asked his friend about it, however, Holmes said that it wasn’t something he was currently being consulted on and therefore had no interest in investigating. He gave Bruce a keen look as he said it and it made Bruce think that perhaps Holmes knew more about his nightlife than he was letting on. The journalist speculated that the murder of the child, Annie West from Walthamstow, was somehow related to the ‘West Ham Vanishings’ in the preceding four years. Bruce dragged the boys with him back to Holmes and asked him his opinion. To Holmes, the case was rather trivial, not worth his time, for he had never much cared for small children, nor the children of the rich. Gruesome the story may be, but to him the inspectors of Scotland Yard, Lestrade in particular, were more than up to the task. Their confidence had taken a knock when they failed to catch London’s own Jack the Ripper, Holmes’s too if his apathy was anything to go by, but they were being trusted to claw something back of the respect they had enjoyed in recent years. Lestrade had not yet appeared at Baker Street, something that surprised Bruce, perhaps unduly, but he supposed that, with Holmes refusing to take a case, the force must be frustrated with his friend.

He argued with Selina as he put on the cape and cowl. He had not expected to be needed, Batman was for Gotham after all, but with Holmes being as bull-headed as ever, he needed a disguise to hunt down the murderer. Selina wanted to go with him. “Aren’t you meeting someone tomorrow? You can’t possibly be seen in public all battered and bruised and this will undoubtedly end with a fight.” Selina didn’t like that and said so, citing her new friend Mrs Fawcett’s opinion on women’s rights as a reason that such things did not matter in the slightest. “Selina, please, I need you to look after the boys. You know they’ll get into all sorts of mischief without you there.” She snorted and, with her nose in the air, she strode away, poised and elegant as ever. “I would spend so much time in awe of your ability that the case would never be solved,” he called after her and her laugh wafted towards him on the light draft blowing in through the open window.  

London was a miserable city at night. Gotham was grim and dark and rife with the very dregs of humanity but London had a rotten stench that Gotham lacked. Its criminal underbelly, the creepers of Whitechapel, the thieves and conmen of St. Giles, rivaled the worst of Gotham’s rogues and where Gotham’s filth shone by gaslight, London simply oozed pestilence. West Ham was not quite so bad, more of a mix, with houses of both modest middle-class families, the down-trodden working class, and the aloof upper classes. Walthamstow, just a stone’s throw from Stratford, was much the same and it wasn’t long before he found the house of Annie West who had been murdered and found in a ditch. He investigated, found a route the murderer could have taken, and was looking for clues when he felt eyes on him. Turning slowly and raising his fists to chest height, he made his voice as threatening as possible as he spoke. “I know you’re there. Why don’t you come out now before I make you?” It was Timmy because of course it was Timmy.

Bruce wasn’t entirely sure when he first noticed that Timmy was… different to the other two boys. He was quieter, for sure, but he had an unnerving habit of simply appearing with all the information one needed at the present moment. He also only seemed to appear when something was about to go wrong. Dickie and Jason claimed it was some kind of sixth sense borne of following Batman around back when he first took to the streets; Bruce thought it was because Timmy was always there and just chose the most opportune moment to reveal himself. Whatever it was (and Timmy wasn’t telling), he was there when he was needed and so his appearance now boded ill for Bruce. The boy was clever enough to wear old, ripped garments, though anyone adept at disguises would see straight through it, and had mused and dirtied his hair to blend in with the street children of North London. Bruce would not have known it was his Timmy if they had passed on the street. “You’re looking for Joseph Roberts,” he whispered to Bruce from the shadows of a nearby house. “He was a builder, suspected of murder for the ‘West Ham Vanishings’ between 1888 and 1890. He knows this area, B.” There was a strangled squeak from Timmy’s direction and sounds of a scuffle. Bruce started forwards before a giant of a man came forth into the dingy light, Timmy held aloft in one meaty hand.

The terror he felt in that moment was indescribable. Timmy’s eyes were wide and frightened, his feet swung with ineffective kicks that didn’t quite reach and his hands trembled as they clawed at his captor’s hold. Bruce stilled and waited for the inevitable. “This brat yours? No wonder ‘e’s mad enough to go ‘bout in these parts. You ain’t one o’ them Peelers. You should keep closer eye on your little’un.” He was, despite his threatening stance, smiling and talking amiably to Bruce, but Bruce was no fool - he knew just how quickly men like this could turn and he wanted Timmy far away from that. Taking another step forward, the man dropped Timmy to the cobbles and reached for his pocket. Timmy scrambled away and Bruce waited until he was sure his son was safe before he threw the first punch.

The man, Roberts, danced away from it, light on his feet for a man of such bulk, and laughed. “You should take better care of ‘im, Guvnor. I hate people who don’t look after their brood properly.” He had drawn a knife now but Bruce wasn’t worried, his suit was well protected against knife attacks, knives being the weapon of choice for Gotham criminals. The fight began in earnest then, each swinging fists and kicking out with hard-heeled boots and knife-edged palms. Bruce had the upper hand against a common criminal, his training in those absent years had paid off tenfold, but this common criminal was far better than he had expected, throwing punches with alarming accuracy and coming far too close to splitting skin with his small but sharp knife. They were buffeted to and fro in the narrow alley and Bruce ached to take to the rooftops like he would in Gotham, longing for the thrill of the chase, but this man was built for the ground and the rat race of the inner-city slums, not the air and high life of the London night. They were trapped in endless battle in this alley and he had just missed a punch that sent him staggering into a wall. That was his fault, he knew better than to get distracted in a fight. Timmy was shouting. Why was Timmy shouting? The man was coming back for round two. Bruce bounced on his toes, allowing adrenaline and the rush of Batman to overtake him and leapt back into the fray.

They traded punches like spices from the Orient and Batman gained as many bruises as his opponent. His fighting was sloppy and rough but it was as far removed from Bruce Wayne as it was possible to be. There was a movement to his left and his punch almost took Jason's head off. When had he arrived? Dickie soared overhead like the bird that gave him his name and now he was at Batman's side too, fighting it out together. Roberts snarled in frustration and tried to run but there was Selina, an indignant Timmy at her side and he was captured.  

Scotland Yard did not know how to deal with masked vigilantes. Bruce knew Inspector Lestrade but Lestrade didn't know that he knew Batman and far too many people knew anyway. When asked, he told the officer that Sherlock Holmes had solved it and simply sent him to catch the man. When Lestrade was concerned by this, he told him not to worry, that Batman wasn't coming to take the Yard’s glory and he would rather it stay out of the press anyway. Lestrade didn't seem to understand that line of thinking but accepted it for what it was and Bruce left feeling a twinge of sadness for what might have been between himself and Commissioner Gordon, had Jim Gordon not turned out to be a deranged serial killer. It was long past time for him to return home but Selina still had her long-awaited meeting with Mrs Fawcett and so the next day would be just him and the boys.

They stayed at the hotel. Dickie and Jason, still running on the rush crime fighting had brought them, demanded he let them out in the field and he, still high on the drunken happiness of locking away a criminal for good, had agreed. That morning was for costume brainstorming. This was something far more Selina's expertise but Bruce was, in his own way, very practical when it came down to it. Timmy sat close by. Tensions were still high between his boys but they were brothers in all but blood and last night had only confirmed that. Timmy would not be joining his brothers in costume. He would have to speak to Holmes but he had something resembling a plan for Timmy, should he agree to it. In the time he was distracted, Dickie and Jason had begun fighting again, this time over Dickie’s choice in costume.  He hadn’t heard what Jason had said but, looking at Dickie’s design, he could probably guess. The costume was all bright colours, reds and greens and yellows, with little armouring and less practicality. It was as ill-suited to a Gotham night as a fish is to land. Timmy was staring at it, a frown tugging at his features. “It’s your old circus costume, isn’t it, Dickie?” The room fell still and Dickie launched himself at Timmy to wrap him in a hug. Bruce took the time to look at Jason’s attempt. Unlike Dickie’s ‘Robin’, Jason’s alter-ego was unnamed. The costume was far more practical, dark greys, blacks and muted reds that would blend in well against the old stone, with thick padding to protect his vitals and make him appear bulkier. Jason’s suit was all about illusion where Dickie’s was showmanship, grounded reality where his brother’s was the bright happiness of childhood. It was difficult to believe that Jason was the younger of the two. Extracting a blue-faced Timmy from Dickie’s grasp, he explained how each could improve their design. Dickie was disappointed to lose the colour that, in his mind, lightened the myth of the Batman, but understood its reasoning and finally decided on a predominantly red costume, with a golden yellow lined black cloak. No one asked where the name Robin came from. That was Dickie’s story to tell.

  
It was another month before they left London. Batman was not needed again and the boys were being patient in their waiting for a debut. They met with Holmes several more times, though often it was just Bruce and Timmy. After his initial reservations, Timmy had become quite fond of the man and Bruce could tell that Holmes, too, enjoyed the company. Before long, it was time for them to return to Gotham. Alfred had sent a telegram expressing a desire for their immediate return and Bruce was not one to disappoint Alfred. Now he just had a proposition for Holmes. They were in the living room drinking tea in much the same fashion that they had as Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson. Bruce had just finished explaining, for the first time, exactly _why_ he had been in Afghanistan and Holmes was considering the tale, trying to pick holes in it, no doubt. “This ‘Ra’s al Ghul character sounds rather my sort of opponent,” he said. “I wonder if he would ever come to London.” Bruce chuckled and expressed his disbelief. Ra’s al Ghul, while an alarmingly clever adversary, tended to stick with what he knew - in this case, his Arabian base of operations and Gotham. “If you are interested in meeting him face to face, you could always return to Gotham with me. There is an abundance of room at the Manor, you would never be bored, what with all the crimes to solve, and the boys adore you.” Holmes looked around the flat with a pensive look upon his face before shaking his head. Bruce was disappointed with his decision but there was always time. Holmes would come to Gotham someday, he was sure, he was needed there and where Holmes was needed, he went.

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the plot: the West Ham Vanishings were an actual thing, as was the murder of Annie West. Both are unsolved and believed to be linked. Joseph Roberts is also a real person and is believed to be the murderer. Millicent Fawcett, for thosewho don't know, was the founder of the National Union of Women's Suffrage Societies (NUWSS) which became known as the suffragists, not the suffragettes who are better known at least partially because they were domestic terrorists. The archaeological digs are also real as are the archaeologists working on them. The work was on the temple of Aten which is an interesting part of Egyptian history for anyone who wants to look it up.  
> I did comic research (because I have never read a comic in my life) and discovered that the Robins aren't in the Gotham by Gaslight/Elseworlds universe that the film is based off so I had free rein on their backstories. Tim, therefore has a similar upbringing to what others have written about on here and Dickie has Dick Grayson's origin story (the 'foreign language' mentioned is Romani because I love that idea, even if it has never been canon.)  
> I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, or if you have any improvements you want to suggest, leave a comment below. I love comments and I want to hear your thoughts!


End file.
